


Cairo Blues

by violetvaria



Series: Stable AU [8]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Cairo Week 2020, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Adoption, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Field Trip, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Handwavy Science, Hugging, Implied Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Language, Name Changes, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Rocking chair, Sexual Harassment, Stable AU, dad!Jack, lots of physical affection, money issues, teen!Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria
Summary: Jack knew, as soon as he spotted Mac hunched over in a chair in the museum curator’s office, hands clasped and supporting his chin, shaggy hair falling forward to obscure his face, that the kid was one-hundred-percent guilty of whatever he was being accused of.Or: an attempt to bring Cairo into the Stableverse~~~set in dickgrysvn's Stablehands + Stable Homes AU and alongside slightly_ajar's Stable AU
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Stable AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1270502
Comments: 30
Kudos: 51
Collections: Stable_AU





	Cairo Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stablehands + Stable Homes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171) by [dickgrysvn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickgrysvn/pseuds/dickgrysvn). 

> With thanks, as always, to dickgrysvn for creating and sharing the [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171) universe! Much love to slightly_ajar for partnering in this AU!
> 
> WARNINGS:  
-referenced sexual harassment (a couple fairly explicit comments)  
-bullying  
-some strong language, including one instance of _f***_  
-vocalized threats against minors (they kind of deserve it)  
-extremely mild implied past child abuse
> 
> Note: I did far more research into Egyptian blue than this story would suggest because after reading, I just fictioned. Please ignore blatant inaccuracies.

Jack knew, as soon as he spotted Mac hunched over in a chair in the museum curator’s office, hands clasped and supporting his chin, shaggy hair falling forward to obscure his face, that the kid was one-hundred-percent guilty of whatever he was being accused of.

Mac didn’t appear spooked as he sometimes did when he thought he would be blamed for something that wasn’t his fault, something he didn’t even know had happened but for which he would be punished anyway. No, there was a small spark of fear, but it was mixed with resignation. Mac knew what he’d done wrong, was waiting for the consequences of his actions.

But the stiffness in his shoulders told Jack that the kid didn’t regret it. Whatever he’d done to his fellow field-trippers, they’d deserved it.

Mac might be guilty, but Jack also knew with a glance at Mr. Appleton that the teacher couldn’t prove it.

A further scan of the room revealed three other teenage boys, sprawling in that way that was meant to convey arrogance and boredom but actually betrayed their nerves. They were grouped together, and though they weren’t speaking, Jack could already tell they had worked out their story, most of which was probably fabricated.

“I’m Jack Dalton.” He strode forward, hand outstretched, automatically slipping into his old Army command mode. “I’m Mac’s father.”

“Mr. Dalton!” The teacher appeared relieved when they shook hands, as though he hadn’t believed anyone would come.

Jack wondered if the other parents had been called and, if so, how he’d managed to beat them to the museum where some of the students from Mac’s school were spending half the day. Although come to think of it, maybe he _had_ made good time, considering he’d quite abruptly ended Mrs. Bellamy’s riding lesson when he’d received the call, grateful when she encouraged him to go, urging him to be careful.

Well. He’d made it in one piece. That was as careful as he could get when he was worried something had happened to Mac.

As much as Jack wanted to get the full details, there was something else he needed to know first. He jerked a nod at Mr. Appleton, spun on his heel, and stalked over to his soon-to-be son, crouching down in front of him.

“Hey, bud, you okay?” he asked softly.

Shocked blue eyes shot up. Mac had been chewing on his lip, Jack could see, and his long slender fingers were anxiously twining together. The teen nodded tentatively.

“Really?” Jack prodded, ignoring the presence of the teacher he could feel hovering behind him. He wished he could get Mac away from prying eyes, give him a chance to tell the whole story in private _after_ Jack had given him a hug and assured him that he was safe, but he figured they needed to deal with any fallout with the school.

“I—” Mac cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”

Jack’s mouth firmed. “Okay,” he repeated, rising and turning back to Mr. Appleton. “What happened?”

“Well, as I said on the phone, there was an…incident,” the teacher said delicately. “Would you like to wait for the other parents to arrive?” He glanced toward the other students. “We’re still working on reaching someone for Trey and Mitchell.” Two of the teens twitched uncomfortably, still appearing outwardly defiant. “Kristoff’s parents have said someone would arrive shortly.”

Noting the slight hesitation before the word _someone_, Jack studied the third boy for a second, taking in the expensive clothing and ridiculously over-the-top specialty sneakers, the purposely disinterested expression, the falsely tough posture. Ah. A bored rich kid who got his thrills messing with others. And was waiting for…not his parents, that was for sure. Their lawyer? Their maid?

“No need to wait,” Jack decided briskly. “You can fill me in.”

“There was an altercation,” Mr. Appleton began reluctantly.

“A fight?” Jack had already clocked all visible knuckles in the room. None bore any marks.

“Unfortunately, the four boys were around the corner from the rest of the class.” Mr. Appleton looked as unhappy as he sounded. “No one saw exactly what happened.”

“Okay…” Jack resisted gesturing impatiently for the man to get to the point.

“When one of our chaperones went back to look, she arrived in time to see Angus falling to the floor. She believed he had been shoved.”

Jack whipped around, hating Mac’s almost unnoticeable flinch at the sudden movement. The kid recovered quickly, meeting Jack’s eyes and shaking his head reassuringly.

Well, Mac could say he wasn’t hurt, but Jack would definitely be following up on that later.

“So let me get this straight. Those three ja—jerks push my kid around, and you haul him back here with the rest of ‘em like juvie jailbirds?”

“We were trying to ascertain the facts, Mr. Dalton,” the teacher said primly. “Unfortunately, there was some…damage.”

“Damage?” Jack took a step toward Mac. What injuries was the kid hiding from him?

“To museum property.”

“Oh.” Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Mac was okay, then. “Wait, what?”

“An informational exhibit in the entrance to the Egyptian wing. Fortunately, they were nowhere near any of the actual artifacts.” The teacher sounded so incredibly thankful that Jack wondered just how expensive those artifacts were.

“And this information booth was damaged?”

“It was an exhibit on the history of Egyptian blue.” Mr. Appleton’s voice grew warmer. “Quite fascinating, really. It was a pigment used in a great deal of ancient Egyptian art, but the exact formula of the dye has been lost to history. It is theorized—” The teacher seemed to recall himself. “I mean, that isn’t particularly relevant at the moment. The point is, the exhibit sustained some damage.”

Jack stared, unimpressed. “So you called me down here because this color stand was broken by those little idiots picking on my son?”

“We can’t be sure who caused the damage,” the teacher reproved. “None of the boys will say precisely what happened.”

“Uh-huh.” That tracked with what Jack remembered from his teen years. He was hoping Mac would be more forthcoming when he got home, though. “So what’s the plan here? Gonna make the kids clean up their mess? Pay to repaint the blue exhibit?”

“The museum is calculating the cost of repair,” Mr. Appleton agreed slowly. “But the school cannot condone this type of behavior. We are considering suspension.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” He glanced over at Mac. From the way the kid ducked his head, he guessed this was new information.

“We take this matter very seriously,” Mr. Appleton said so fastidiously that Jack kind of wanted to strangle him. “Had it been an actual artifact, the damage would have been irreparable.”

“Wait, wait. The part you’re worried about is a sign gettin’ broken? Not how my son was clearly being targeted by—”

“It was more than a sign, Mr. Dalton. In fact, the exhibit is modeled on one from the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo—”

“Right.” If the teacher thought it was all right to interrupt, Jack had no problem returning the favor. “And because my son had the bad luck to get pushed down right next to it, _he’s_ getting suspended?”

“Well, if we can find evidence that he was not responsible for the altercation that resulted in the damage…”

“Evidence? You want evidence?” Jack knew his voice was rising, but he couldn’t help it. He already knew what would happen. Even if he convinced Mac to say it wasn’t his fault, the other boys would line up against him, and the teacher wouldn’t believe any of them. Not that Mac appeared eager to defend himself in the first place.

Frustrated, he glared around the room. Kristoff, the clear leader of the trio, still exuded smugness, but Jack noticed he had his arms crossed a little too tightly to be truly at ease. The other two were shifting nervously.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Mac sneak a peek at the wall clock, a faint air of satisfaction creeping into his demeanor. He’d been waiting, Jack realized, waiting for a certain time to make his move. If only Jack knew what it was.

Mac noticed his guardian watching and bit his lip again, but Jack nodded at him. _I’ll follow your lead, kid. What do you need me to do?_

For another moment, Mac studied him as though checking Jack’s sincerity. Then subtly, as though he were just stretching, he clasped his two hands together, lifting and dropping them sharply, followed by tilting his head toward the other three teens.

Jack puzzled over that for a second, more because he didn’t see the point than because he didn’t understand the meaning. But Mac was a genius. Jack trusted that he had his reasons.

“Fine.” Jack addressed Mr. Appleton again. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say right now. All right if I take my son home?”

Appearing glad to no longer be arguing, Mr. Appleton bobbed his head. “Of course. You’ll have to sign him out, and then you’re welcome to go. More information will be sent to you when we have it.”

“Of course,” Jack agreed smoothly. “But before we go, I think we should have the boys shake hands.”

Trey and Mitchell sat up sharply.

“Gettin’ in fights is one thing, but holdin’ grudges is another.” Jack recited one of his dad’s maxims, one that he still struggled to take to heart. He already hated these kids, and he didn’t see that stopping any time soon. “Best to shake hands and be ready to start fresh next time, right?”

“That’s…a fine idea, Mr. Dalton.” The teacher appeared pleasantly surprised. “Boys?”

Mac stood with feigned reluctance and approached the trio, hand outstretched. No one else made a move.

“No need to be petty,” Mr. Appleton said sharply. “Shake hands. We’re all friends here.”

Kristoff still had his arms crossed, while Trey and Mitchell now had their hands buried deep inside their jacket pockets. Jack was starting to guess where Mac was going with this.

“We’re not friends,” Kristoff sneered.

“But you are classmates,” Mr. Appleton snapped. “And you can show respect for each other. Now shake hands.”

Mac still had his hand extended, a patient look on his face.

Trey and Mitchell exchanged anxious glances, but Kristoff scowled and snarled, “I’m not friends with any little man-whore.”

Jack saw red, and he was moving before he realized it, crashing to a halt only when he ran into something that he soon realized was his almost-son holding him back. “What the _fuck_ did you say?” he hissed, seething so much he was sure smoke was rising from his ears.

Even Kristoff appeared unnerved, but he persisted doggedly. “We know all about how you’re his new _daddy_,” he sneered. “All the new presents he’s earned, his ass must be pretty sweet.”

“Jack, _stop_.” Mac grabbed the back of Jack’s shirt as his guardian steamed past him, intent on the punk whose neck he needed to snap.

“Mr. Dalton!” As scandalized as Mr. Appleton appeared at Kristoff’s taunts, he was clearly more afraid for the life of one of his students. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he raced to Kristoff’s side, holding up his hands placatingly toward Jack.

Mac pulling on him was slowing him down, but Jack wasn’t stopping. Ignoring the teacher, he shot a hand toward the teen’s shirt, obviously intending to drag him from his seat.

Quick as a flash, Mac had both hands locked around Jack’s arm, just barely preventing him from touching Kristoff.

But it had had been close enough that the teen had uncrossed his arms, raising his hands as if to defend himself.

And through the mist of red obscuring his vision, Jack saw blue.

He dropped his arms to his sides. “What. Is. That.” He pointed, still breathing heavily, muscles still tightly coiled.

Mr. Appleton was staring in shock. “_That_ is Egyptian blue…”

Mac cautiously let go of his soon-to-be dad, and Jack managed to take a small step back, tension easing slightly. “Like that broken exhibit you were talking about?”

“Exactly like that,” the teacher murmured, still staring.

“And if these other two show us their hands?” Jack needn’t have spoken. Trey and Mitchell had gripped their chairs as if to flee when Jack approached, and everyone could already see the blue staining their fingers.

“Yes,” the teacher said grimly. “I see.”

“So.” Jack clapped his hands once. “I’m assuming there won’t be any more talk of suspending my son.”

“I—think we can safely presume he was not involved in damaging the exhibit.”

“And doesn’t your school have a policy on harassment? ‘Cause what I just heard…”

“We certainly do.” If it were possible, Mr. Appleton looked even grimmer. “Rest assured, this behavior will not be tolerated.”

Jack thought whatever the school would do to Kristoff would likely be too light a punishment, but he glanced at Mac, and the kid appeared content. He nodded.

“Then I guess we’re done here.”

Barely waiting for the teacher’s acknowledgement, Jack marched toward the exit, pausing just long enough to make sure Mac was following and to shoot the remaining teens a death-glare. As the door closed, Jack had the satisfaction of seeing all three cringing in their seats, finally cowed.

~~~

Jack waited until they had been riding in silence for a few minutes to ask his most urgent question.

“Truth time, bud.” He didn’t miss the way Mac straightened in his seat, ears pricking anxiously. “Are you really okay?”

Mac let out a breath that might have been a laugh, slumping down again. “I’m fine, Jack,” he assured.

“Yeah? Your teacher said you got shoved—”

“I didn’t land on anything. I know how to take a fall.”

From the way the kid bit his lip and looked out the window, Jack figured he hadn’t really meant to say that. This wasn’t the time to pursue that line of inquiry.

“Okay,” Jack said gently. “Then my next question…”

Mac pressed closer to the door but canted his head toward his guardian to show he was listening.

“How’d you do it?”

There was a beat of silence.

“What?”

Jack chuckled. “C’mon, kid. You and I both know you had somethin’ to do with catchin’ those—uh, those idiots blue-handed. How’d you do it?”

Mac shifted, and Jack could tell the kid _wanted _to share.

“I’m not upset,” he assured quickly. “Impressed, really. And sounds like they had that comin’—that and more. Just curious how you pulled it off. Wanna pull back the curtain, wizard?”

Mac grinned slightly. “Well, I heard about the exhibit borrowed from the Cairo museum, and I thought that might be the best place for—for—”

“For an ambush?”

Mac shrugged but didn’t dispute the word choice. “Bozer and I scoped the place out last week.”

“Reconnaissance.” Jack nodded approvingly. “Solid move.”

A bit disbelievingly, Mac continued, “So, um, I just had to make a dye that would mimic Egyptian blue.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jack stifled a snort of laughter, highly entertained. He hadn’t known that living with a genius would be so unexpectedly _funny_ sometimes.

“Well, it’s believed the color is due to the mineral cuprorivaite, and a synthetic form can be made with a calcium-copper tetrasilicate—”

Jack started to wave a hand, thought better of it, and turned the motion into adjusting the already positioned rearview mirror instead. “English version, kiddo.”

Mac shrugged again. “I rubbed it on my jacket, so I just had to make sure they all touched it.”

“Uh-huh. So you needled ‘em into a fight next to that Cairo color booth. That why you wore that old thing?”

Mac looked down at the ratty, too-small jacket. “Um. Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Jack hummed doubtfully but let it go for the moment. “So was it on a timer or something?”

“Not exactly. It reacted with water over time, so I just had to wait for them to sweat enough for it to start showing. Trials showed it generally took about thirty minutes, so…” Mac trailed off, gesturing meaninglessly with one hand. “Um, it shouldn’t be permanent, but I’ll wash the seat,” he added hastily, leaning forward as though to make sure his jacket wasn’t in contact with the passenger seat of the truck.

“That’s fine, bud. Not worried about it. Pretty sure this old girl has seen worse stains than your Cairo blue.”

Mac’s nose wrinkled. “Um, ew?”

“Mind outta the gutter, kid. I meant from supplies from the stable and whatnot. Mostly.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of the gutter, where’d those three slimeballs crawl from?”

Suddenly finding the fraying cuff of his jacket fascinating, Mac began picking at a thread. “They’re just—nobody.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack scoffed.

Mac stared out the window as though memorizing the street. “I—I understand if you’re mad,” he said so abruptly Jack almost slammed on the brakes.

“What?”

“I—I didn’t mean for you to get called down there. I didn’t think that—I thought nobody would see until later when the dye showed up, and I wouldn’t be—I mean, I’m sorry. I—you’re right to be mad, and I won’t argue or anything, but I just need—I mean, please, can you tell me now? Not—not wait until—”

“Mac.” Jack cut into the increasingly frantic rambling. “Hey, take a breath. It’s okay.” He waited until he heard Mac inhale deeply. “That’s it. You’re not in trouble, all right? Far as I can tell, they had it comin’. That and more. Actually should probably thank you for stoppin’ me,” he mused. “S’pose it’s probably frowned upon to tune up a minor, even if he deserves it.” Jack scowled. “Little son-of-a—son-of-a-gun is lucky I’m not _his _dad. Needs his ass whupped good.”

Lost in angry ruminations, Jack didn’t regret his thoughtless words until Mac cleared his throat softly, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Defending yourself is always okay.” He chuckled, his mood lightening as he considered his soon-to-be son. “Not the way I woulda done it, that’s for sure, but of course you’d be smarter and subtler about it than me.” He sobered again. “You think they’re gonna cause more trouble for you when they get back to school?”

Mac shook his head. “They get bored pretty easily. I think they’ll move on to something else.” The _now that they know I’m not an easy target_ was implied.

“Okay.” Jack nodded once as they pulled up to the house. “So how long they been sayin’ sh—er, crap like that to you?”

Mac opened his door. “I—I know you have to get back to the stable.”

“Mac.” Jack got out to follow his almost-son inside. “Hey, don’t walk away from me.” He saw the way Mac stiffened but didn’t turn, and he smacked his forehead with one palm. “Son, I promise I’m not upset with you, all right? I just wanna know what’s been goin’ on.”

Mac didn’t move. “It’s…fine, Jack. I handled it.”

“Yeah, I saw you handle it, all right,” Jack agreed dryly. “And color me impressed.” He winked even though Mac couldn’t see it. “_Color_. Get it? Like your Cairo blue?”

At that, the teen snorted softly, shaking his head as he turned back to face Jack. “Egyptian blue.”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m proud of you for finding a solution.” He watched the cautious hope that blossomed on his kid’s face. “Now how ‘bout you take off that jacket so I can hug you without turning into a Smurf.”

The tiny giggle made Jack’s heart sing, and he had to swallow down the lump in his throat when Mac practically ripped off the offending article of clothing—hanging it neatly on a hanger in the hall closet, far from any of the other coats hanging there—and edged closer to his soon-to-be dad.

“That’s better.” Jack relaxed as soon as his arms were around his kid. Automatically, one hand buried itself in the soft blond hair, a move that allowed him to feel for any bumps without being obvious.

“I didn’t hit my head.”

Or maybe it was obvious after all.

“You sure?”

Mac nodded into Jack’s shoulder but didn’t try to push him away, so Jack felt comfortable cupping his almost-son’s head and cradling him even closer.

“Let me guess,” he breathed into the kid’s ear. “Started a few weeks ago, right? When you started wearing your old clothes again?”

Mac tensed, and Jack knew he was right.

*~*

Jack had never been especially fond of Monday mornings, but sharing breakfast with his almost-son and seeing him off to school before he went to work always made his day a little brighter. He waited by the door, truck keys in hand, ready to say goodbye to Mac before they went their separate ways.

Mac, freshly changed out of his pajamas, hurried from his room and toward the door, tossing a casual parting toward his guardian on his way.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jack held up a hand to forestall his soon-to-be-son from leaving. “What are you wearing?”

“What?” Mac hunched his shoulders, voice both anxious and defensive. “Nothing.” At his guardian’s raised eyebrow, he flushed. “I mean, not _nothing_, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jack returned dryly. “Assuming we’re not in one of them nightmares where you prance around school buck nekkid—”

“_Jack_,” Mac groaned.

“But that ain’t what I meant, and you know it. What happened to—”

“Bozer’s here. Gotta go.” Quick as a flash, the teen had the door open and was leaping through it like a colt on coiled-spring legs. “See you later!” And before Jack could even wave, Mac was gone.

Jack scowled after him. He was sure Mac had enough clean shirts that he didn’t have to resort to wearing his old ill-fitting clothing. Was this some sort of new fashion statement? Was Mac upset with his guardian for some reason and was refusing to wear anything Jack bought him? Maybe the school was having one of those spirit days when everyone had to dress in a certain theme, like “Hobo Day.”

Of course, Jack hadn’t received any notices from the school, but perhaps it was a student-sponsored event. And Mac, the genius with the near-flawless memory, had just forgotten to mention it.

No reason to worry, Jack told the knot in his stomach. Teenagers were weird. It was probably nothing. Just a phase.

The phase lasted all week, and Jack was about ready to tear out his hair. Mac sidestepped questions, and Jack didn’t want to make him more self-conscious than he already was, so he hesitated to push too hard, but not knowing was driving him crazy. Why would Mac wear pants that were a little too short, or a t-shirt with with tiny charred holes in it, or his disgusting old shoes that Jack had thought he’d thrown away? Why would he revert to carrying a backpack that only had one strap still attached, tossing nubs of pencils and pens without caps inside carelessly instead of collecting his school supplies neatly in a pencil case?

It wasn’t as if Mac didn’t have nicer things. Jack had made sure of that.

He’d tried to bring it up again when signing the permission slip for Mac’s field trip.

“A museum, huh?” Jack tried to muster up some enthusiasm, although if he remembered rightly, the best thing about field trips was not being in class. His school had always gone to the most boring places a young Jack could imagine, and he figured Mac’s school wouldn’t be any different. “Sounds—uh—fun.”

“It’s okay,” Mac shrugged. “Has—you know—some cool exhibits.”

“Yeah? You been there before?”

Mac’s eyes slid away. “Once.”

Jack wondered if James had taken Mac before. If so, he wasn’t about to pry. He changed the subject.

“So, this museum have a dress code or anything?”

The teen jerked back around. “What?”

“You know. They want you to dress up fancy to go there or somethin’?”

Mac’s brow furrowed. “Um, it isn’t a gala. We don’t need a suit and tie or anything.”

“Right, right, but—um—” Jack fumbled with his words, unsure how to order his kid to stop his poor imitation of ‘90s grunge. He sort of regretted being less than understanding with his momma when she hated teen-Jack’s acid-washed jeans.

“I’m going downstairs for a while. Unless you need me to help at the stable?”

Jack sighed. “No, that’s all right, son. You go on and play.”

At least that bit of teasing elicited an eyeroll, accompanied by Mac sticking out his tongue purposefully childishly before disappearing into his lab.

*~*

Well, now Jack knew—or was pretty confident he knew—what had caused Mac’s sudden change in style. He wasn’t sure how he’d react if someone mocked him for being—He didn’t even want to think it. But rather than confront the bullies directly, Mac had apparently decided to try to stay under the radar until he could take them down on his own terms.

Jack felt a little sick. It had never even occurred to him that anyone would look at their nascent family and think something so _wrong_, but he should have been ready for that. Should have warned Mac that even though he loved him like a son—even though Mac _was_ his son in all but name—others might wonder what a forty-something-year-old bachelor wanted with a teenage boy.

He should have helped Mac be prepared.

“You know you can tell me if you’re havin’ a problem, buddy. No matter what it is.”

“I’d tell you if I couldn’t handle it, Jack. I—I promise I’d try.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Seems like this has been goin’ on long enough to—” He choked himself off, pausing to think about how he could phrase the statement without making Mac feel guiltier. “It’s been a while,” he amended, cursing his inarticulateness.

“It—it wasn’t important, Jack.” Mac’s voice was stressed, and Jack hated pushing him.

“Kiddo, what they were saying, that wasn’t just—”

“I didn’t want you to know!”

Jack’s arms dropped as Mac yanked himself backward. “What?”

“You didn’t need to—to hear that. It—” Mac looked away, blinking rapidly.

“Mac…” Jack shook his head to clear it. “Son, were you tryna—tryna _protect_ me?” His chest felt heavy with the sudden tenderness he felt for this boy he didn’t deserve, this kid who had been through everything he had and still tried to take care of others.

“I knew it wasn’t true,” Mac said quietly, still facing the far wall. “It—I know you’d never even think that way. So it didn’t matter what they said.”

It had mattered enough for Mac to change his daily routine. It had mattered enough for the kid to plot and exact revenge. But Jack didn’t point that out.

“Will you tell me next time something’s botherin’ you?” he asked softly instead.

Mac fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Not lookin’ for an apology, bud. Just want you to feel comfortable comin’ to me.”

“I do. I—you didn’t deserve to hear that. You’ve been so good to me, and—”

“Mac. Deep breath.”

The teen complied and said more slowly, “If you’d gone after them, you could have been arrested.”

Jack’s head snapped back. “You think I would’ve attacked a bunch of teenagers?”

“You almost did today.”

Jack was silent for a while, staring at his feet. It took a lot to arouse his ire, but once it flared, it tended to burn hot and fast. He thought he’d been doing a good job of controlling his temper around Mac, knowing how much it bothered the kid, knowing he feared an adult’s anger aimed at him. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might upset Mac to see that wrath turned on someone else.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said finally, causing Mac to whirl around in surprise. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” He held out his arms hopefully, grateful when Mac shrugged and allowed himself to be held again. “I’ll work on my temper, all right? Won’t go off half-cocked, ‘specially not if you’ve got a better plan. How’s that?”

Mac nodded silently, face hidden in his guardian’s shirt.

“If they start buggin’ you when they come back to school, I do wanna hear about though, okay? Can you promise me that?”

Mac hesitated, but then agreed. “Okay. I—I don’t think they will, though.”

“Okay. Then we don’t have to talk about Cairo blue anymore. Maybe should throw out that jacket, though.”

He was pleased when a short laugh gusted against his shoulder.

“Probably so,” Mac agreed.

“Good.” Jack pressed a kiss to his kid’s temple and released him. “I need to get back to work, ‘less you wanna tell me any other devious schemes you got cooked up. Sorry, too soon,” he added as soon as he saw the look on Mac’s face. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“There’s nothing else.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight then.” Jack ruffled his kid’s hair fondly. “Love you, bud. Completely.”

“Forever,” Mac replied absently.

“No matter what. I’ll be back later, kid. Call if you need anything.”

~~~

Mac was quiet during dinner that evening, and Jack knew he was thinking about something. He tempted him into the living room afterward with the promise of the last of Nana Bea’s brownies from their latest care package, topped with a generous scoop of ice cream.

Nobody could resist his momma’s brownies, Jack thought, gratified, as he coaxed the kid into sharing the recliner with him. Mac savored his dessert, eyes closed in bliss, and neither spoke while giving Bea Dalton’s confections the respect they deserved.

When the plates were scraped clean, Jack hooked his arms around the kid snuggled in next to him before he could make an escape.

“Wanna share what’s on your mind?”

Mac jerked as though surprised, even though he had to know that Jack was highly attuned to his every mood.

“I was just thinking…” Mac hesitated.

“Well, I know that, son. Go on.”

Slender fingers curled in Jack’s shirt. “You called me your son.”

This was not what Jack had expected, but he realized he needed to get used to being surprised by Mac’s thought processes. “Of course I did. You are. When exactly are you talkin’ about, though?”

“At—at the museum. You introduced yourself to Mr. Appleton.”

Jack tried to remember exactly what he’d said. “Well, yeah.” His heart sank. Mac wasn’t regretting agreeing to the adoption, was he? “That…okay?”

“It just—” Mac began picking at a loose thread on a button on Jack’s shirt. “It isn’t true yet. You being my father.”

“Well, I guess technically that’s true, but you heard Ms. Sparrows when she was here. She’s gonna tell the judge to let the adoption go through.” Jack gathered his courage. “As long as that’s still what you want.”

Blue eyes shot up. “It is!”

Jack released a deep sigh of relief. “Good. I want that too. ‘Cause it already _feels_ true, you know?”

Mac shrugged and leaned back into Jack’s shoulder so he didn’t have to make eye contact. “It just—just surprised me, I guess. Hearing it like that.”

Jack wrapped his arms tightly around his kid. “Yeah?”

“I—I liked it.”

It was all Jack could do to prevent himself from smothering his precious boy as he gathered him in a ferocious hug and, demonstrating great restraint, kissed the top of his head, his temple, and his forehead only one time each. “I love bein’ your dad, kiddo,” he whispered huskily.

Mac hummed and buried his face in Jack’s collar. Jack pushed his feet against the floor, setting the chair into motion, and they enjoyed the gentle sway for a while in silence.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“If I’d told you about—about those guys before…”

“Go ahead, son.”

“Would you have let me go through with it? The Egyptian blue, I mean?”

Jack chewed the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, son. I mighta just come down on ‘em like a ton of bricks, and that probably wouldn’ta done either of us any good in the long run, huh? I mean, I do usually have shovels and tarps in the back of the truck—”

“_Jack_.”

“Kidding, just kidding.” Jack held up his hands innocently, only halfway convincing. “But I swear I’m gonna work on gettin’ better about listening. Just listening. I’ll only get involved if it’s something you ‘n’ me agree is too much for you to handle, all right?”

“You—we’ll agree before you do anything?”

“Promise. Unless it’s somethin’ that involves your health or safety. Then I’m gettin’ involved irregardless. But you’d tell me if it were somethin’ like that, right?” Jack didn’t realize how desperately he wanted Mac to say _yes_ until he noticed the pounding of his heart.

Mac looked down. “I’ll try, Jack,” he promised in a small voice.

“Okay.” Jack pressed his lips to the top of Mac’s head. “Somethin’ else on your mind?”

Mac hesitated. “No…”

“Mac.”

“Just…” The kid fidgeted some more. “You do that.”

Jack blinked. “I do what?”

“You—you think something’s wrong, and you keep asking until—until you make me tell you—”

Jack sighed. “Bud, I already said you’re not in trouble.”

“I know.” Mac shook his head. “But—but maybe there’ll be something that I’m taking care of, and I just—just don’t want to say yet, and I don’t want to promise to tell you if—I mean, what if I can’t—”

“Son. First of all, nobody expects you to be perfect, remember?” Jack waited for Mac’s nod. “And second…maybe you’re right.”

Mac peeked up cautiously.

“I said I wouldn’t get involved right away if you didn’t want me to, and you’re entitled to your privacy. I hope you _will_ share what’s goin’ on, but…” Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, what teenager ever told his dad everything?” He gave a lopsided smile. “Remind me to tell you sometime ‘bout a prank my cousin George and I pulled one Halloween. Those sheep looked pretty—” Jack broke off, chuckling, and pulled himself back to the present. “Point is, I’m pretty sure my pop knew, but I never told him, and he never asked. So I guess if you’ve got secrets that ain’t hurtin’ anybody—and you’re a better kid than I was, and you’re miles better ‘n Cousin George—well, I guess that’s all right.”

There was a pause as Mac digested this.

“Really?” The kid’s voice was barely a breath.

“Yeah.” Jack gave in to the urge and hugged his kid tightly. “How ‘bout if I’m buggin’ you to talk to me, and you need some time to sort it out first, you just tell me _Cairo_, okay?”

“Cairo?”

“Yeah. We don’t talk about Cairo.”

“Cairo,” Mac repeated thoughtfully.

“Time limit on that, though,” Jack warned. “If your Cairo-issue ain’t resolved in three days, you tell me and see if I need to step it.”

Mac recognized a negotiation when he heard it. “Two weeks,” he countered.

Jack scowled. “Five days.”

“Ten days.”

“Six days, and you tell me on the seventh day. Final offer.”

“Deal,” Mac agreed quickly.

“Okay.” Jack nodded, tucking Mac’s head under his chin, and the kid allowed himself to be held.

~~~

The smoke alarm was going off when Jack got home that Friday evening. This was hardly unheard of in the Dalton household, the most recent example being when their social worker had made a surprise visit, but this time, the noise emanated from the kitchen instead of the basement.

Jack rushed to the kitchen, where he found Mac flapping smoke out the open window, a cookie sheet full of burnt crisps in one oven-mitted hand.

“Kiddo, you okay?”

“Jack!” Mac whirled around, immediately looking embarrassed. “Um…”

Jack found another oven mitt and took the pan from his kid. “You workin’ on some experiment here, bud?” He prodded at a charred lump.

Mac coughed apologetically. “I—uh—I was making cookies. Trying to make cookies,” he amended. “The last batch turned out okay.” He gestured, and Jack spotted the plate of passable-looking cookies on the counter. “Guess I just—just forgot about these.” He hung his head. “Sorry.”

“No, hey, it’s okay. No harm done, right? We’ll just pitch these.” Jack tossed the inedible scraps in the trash. “There a bake sale or somethin’ comin’ up that I don’t know about?”

Mac scuffed his toe on the floor, studying his shoe intently. “I—I was making them for you.”

Jack felt a warm glow in his chest. “For me? Aww, what’s the occasion?”

Perking up at Jack’s tone, Mac scurried over to the plate of cookies and brought them back to the table, waiting for his guardian to sit. “I—I found a recipe card. They’re called…” He hesitated. “‘Jack’s Cookies’?”

Jack raised an eyebrow and accepted the laminated index card Mac pushed across the table. He laughed as he studied the spidery near-indecipherable handwriting.

“Ah. Can’t believe I forgot about this. Yeah, my momma made this. Created a special recipe for each of her kids. Had me help her figure out my secret ingredients when I was just a little tyke. Did the same for my sister.” Jack shook his head, smiling fondly. “Wow, this brings back memories. These always were my favorite.” He regarded his almost-son with naked affection in his eyes. “You decided to make these for me?”

Mac nodded shyly. “Is—is that okay? I didn’t mean to take away your mem—”

“It’s more than okay, son.” Jack pretended to bat away some lingering smoke while he cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. Then he reached across the table to take Mac’s hands in his own. “I love having you in my family, you know that?”

“Y-yeah.” Mac was smiling tentatively now.

“Not that you need a reason, but anything goin’ on that made you decide to do this now?”

Mac sat back, and Jack immediately felt the loss of contact.

“I—I’ve been thinking about it…”

“Yeah?” Jack prompted.

Nerving himself, Mac spoke in a rush. “I’ve decided what I want my name to be. After the adoption.”

Jack froze. They had discussed this, but Jack had repeatedly said the final decision was up to Mac, whether he wanted to keep _MacGyver_ or change to _Dalton_. Jack had offered to have them both change to a hybrid name, even if it meant changing the name of the stable too, but Mac had wrinkled his nose at _MacDalton_ and nearly gagged at _DaltGyver_. Abandoning the teasing, Jack had just promised that Mac would always be part of the Dalton clan, no matter what his name was.

“That so?” Jack asked carefully, afraid to sound too hopeful.

Mac picked up a cookie but didn’t bite into it, simply picking crumbs off the edges. “I—my mom named me _Angus_.”

Jack nodded. They’d talked about this before, but he wasn’t going to rush the kid.

“But—but if I give up _MacGyver_, it doesn’t make sense to call me _Mac_, and I—I’m used to that.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise.

“But…” Mac took a deep breath and looked up, meeting his almost-dad’s eyes. “You’re my dad. No matter what anyone else thinks.”

“Son,” Jack began in a pinched voice. “If this is because of what those worthless little shits said—”

“No,” Mac reassured instantly. “I—I mean, maybe I started thinking about it more, but it—it’s just that we—we’re family.”

Jack realized his was holding his breath, fists clenched in his lap.

“What do you think about—about _Angus MacGyver Dalton_?” Mac chuckled nervously. “With—with _MacGyver_ as my middle name.”

Jack swallowed hard but didn’t bother trying to hide the tears shimmering in his eyes. “I think _Angus MacGyver Dalton_ is the best son I could ever wish for,” he said huskily, rising slowly, watching Mac’s face as he moved.

Mac’s shoulders relaxed, and he stood to intercept, accepting the fierce embrace.

“I love you,” Jack mumbled into his kid’s hair. “I love you so, so much. Completely, forever, no matter what, all right?”

“Me too, Jack,” Mac whispered.

After a long moment, Jack pulled back, wiping his eyes. “And I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause you made my favorite cookies.”

Mac giggled wetly and scooted the plate closer to Jack. “I haven’t tried them yet.”

“Well, son, you are in for a treat,” Jack announced grandly, snatching up one of the cookies. “These are—mmph.”

Mac hovered worriedly as Jack turned to the side and began coughing, his eyes bugging out.

“Jack?”

“Uh, just—just swallowed wrong.” Jack coughed some more and waved a hand in the air. “It’s fine.”

“Did—didn’t you like it?”

Jack paused for only a split second. “Of course I did! You followed my momma’s directions, didn’t you?”

Mac bobbed his head eagerly. “I mean, her writing was a little hard to read, but I think I did.”

Jack nodded sagely. “My momma is darn near perfect, but her writing looks like one of them Roach Tests. ‘Course, she always claimed that was just an extra layer of encryption against recipe-thieves, which were ‘bout near as bad as cattle-rustlers in her book.”

Mac paused, thinking. “A Rorschach Test? It isn’t that bad.” Granted, some words had been essentially illegible, but they didn’t look like inkblots. And Mac had just applied logic and figured out what the unreadable part meant. Hadn’t he?

The teen picked up a cookie. “So they’re really okay?”

“Yes!” Jack wrested the cookie from Mac’s hand. “Matter of fact, I’m declaring them all mine.”

“What?”

“Yep. No sharing. You made ‘em for me, so I’m takin’ ‘em.”

Mac eyed his guardian suspiciously. “Jack…”

“I’m just gonna take ‘em to my room to—uh—enjoy ‘em while I call my momma and tell her all about it.”

Mac followed him down the hall, faintly protesting. “Jack, if you don’t like them—”

“Son.” Jack’s voice softened with sincerity. “I _love_ them, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really. Although now that I think about it, Momma mighta left out some steps on that card just to make it harder to steal, you know.”

Mac narrowed his eyes. “The card was laminated.”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t mean nothin’. I’ve seen her laminate place cards that weren’t gonna be used but once.”

“Jack. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hey, did you hear the phone ring?” Jack made a break for his bedroom, but Mac kept up with him.

“_Jack_. Just tell me.”

“Um.” Jack looked from the plate of cookies in his hand to the teen standing in front of him with his arms crossed. “Hey, you know what I used to call these when I was a kid?”

Mac refused to budge, but he did incline his head in a tiny amount of indulgence. “_Jack’s Cookies_?”

“No. Well, that too. But mostly _Cairo Cookies_.”

Mac blinked. “What?”

“Yep. ‘Cause—uh—I’d cover ‘em with blue frosting.”

Mac was back to scowling. “Jack. You didn’t even know what Egyptian blue—”

“Sorry, son, gotta go.” He backed into his room and began easing the door almost all the way closed. “After all, we don’t talk about Cairo.”

Mac fumed silently at the bedroom door. It wasn’t latched, and he knew he could go in if he needed to, but Jack clearly thought he was being sneaky about disposing of the cookies.

The teen wandered back to the kitchen, running through the baking process in his mind. Maybe those ingredients he hadn’t quite been able to read _weren’t_ strawberry gelatin, pepper flakes, and sour cream. He’d thought maybe the sweet and sour were supposed to balance each other out somehow, with a little extra zing as a surprise.

Mac blushed, even though no one was around to see his mishap. He should have stuck to things he knew how to do. At least Jack wasn’t likely to bring up the so-called “Cairo Cookies” again since he’d basically declared the topic off-limits.

Nice to know his soon-to-be dad wouldn’t berate him for doing things wrong. Wouldn’t hold them over his head and refer to them over and over.

He was glad he’d decided to take Jack’s name. He was proud to be associated with the Dalton family, to be called Jack’s son. Grateful to the man who vowed to protect and defend him, even from a few practically harmless bullies at school or from the knowledge that he’d ruined some perfectly good batter with his culinary efforts. The man who provided for him, laughed with him, supported his decisions, encouraged his interests. Who urged him to talk about anything but gave him a way out if he couldn’t.

He realized he’d spoken more with Jack in the past year and a half than he had with James almost his whole life, talking about anything and everything.

So the next morning when he spotted cookie pieces scattered on the ground outside Jack’s bedroom window, Mac said nothing. He and Jack didn’t need to talk about everything.

And they sure didn’t need to talk about Cairo.

**Author's Note:**

> Tiny reference to _The Wizard of Oz_.
> 
> If you enjoyed Jack attempting to consume something simply because Mac made it, may I highly recommend the phenomenal [**Recrudescence**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439946) by impossiblepluto.


End file.
